Off the Job
by TheMacUnleashed
Summary: The journal of Sam Winchester, kept during his Stanford years. Some Sam/Jess in later chapters.
1. Entry One

Journal Entry: One  
January 5

Funny. I always assumed that if I kept one of these, it would be a hunter's log, some sort of record of whatever hellions I happened to encounter. I guess I always figured that there was no way out, and that I'd end up following in dad's footsteps –Dean always did say that we were alike, even though he knew how much that would piss me off.

But that doesn't matter. That's the past. Dad isn't here; Dean would have a hell of a tough job finding any sort of resemblance between us now, and this isn't a hunter's log. It's just a journal, something to help me cope while I'm at Stanford.

And it's something that I can use to both to keep track of the lies I'm telling, and to be honest. I mean, I've given my real name to the few people that I've met and all, but sooner or later somebody is going to ask about my past, and what do I say then? "Oh, I spent most of my childhood wandering the US, hunting monsters that I didn't even know existed until I was nine." Yeah, no. Sooner or later I'll start to make something up, and if I write it down then hopefully I can remember what I'm telling people –keep my story straight, and all that. I already have a few ideas in mind, but I'm not too sure what story I'll go with in the end.

As for honesty, well, I need somewhere where I don't have to lie. And I know that sounds wimpy and kind of pathetic, but it's true. Before, I always had Dean with me, and while we didn't do too much talking about how much our lives sucked, (for two reasons: one, Dean is pretty much okay with hunting, as far as I know, and two because he thought it was too girly, which is probably what he would say about this journal, if he ever found out about it) it was still reassuring to know that there was someone else nearby that I could turn to.

So far, the only person that I've met that's a student is my roommate. His name is Ben Harwood, and he seemed glad to meet me –I was worried, since it's January, and I didn't know how he would feel about a stranger moving in halfway through the regular school year, but he said that his old roommate, Glen, dropped out, and he's glad for the company. He seems nice enough, so I guess we'll get along fine, as long as he respects my privacy. I brought a few knives, with me, I couldn't resist –some silver, just in case. I'm not bringing a gun into Stanford, but I can't go in defenseless.

It's morning, and I'm getting my final schedule today. I guess I should go and do that.

Until next time,

Sam Winchester

(oh, and just a note –nobody else can read this. It's written in a cipher Dean and I came up with awhile ago. It's pretty hard to crack. I should be safe, unless it's Dean reading this, in which case Dean, get out of my journal. _Now_.)

* * *

_a/n: This is written for a challenge at the JCC forums -primarily a Star Wars site, but non-Star Wars fanfics are allowed too. The challenge is to keep the diary of a character for a year, updating at least twice a month. Reviews are very much appreciated, since I'm rather new to this fandom._


	2. Entry Two

_Journal entry: Two_

_January 7_

Well, my schedule isn't too bad. Most of my classes fall on either Mondays, Wednesdays, or Thursdays, and most of them are in the morning.

Ben saw my schedule. He said it was good because it let me go off partying during the nights. Funny, and here I was thinking that I could spend my time studying, and actually doing something to earn the scholarship that's currently keeping me here.

Dean would probably agree with Ben -no, I _know_ he'd agree.

Not that Ben really reminds me of Dean. I don't really know anyone who does remind me of Dean, actually. I guess spending your life hunting demons turns your personality into something that can't be replicated.

Anyway, I spent most of yesterday hanging out with him, learning the ropes. He showed me around campus. I had already known where most of my classes were, but now I know which coffee shop all of the girls hang out at, and where the hall of fame for the Stanford Cardinals (I think it was that, anyway; some bird) is. Good to know, I guess.

I also got to know Ben a bit better –he's a pre-law student, like I am, although I don't think any of our schedules coincide. He's got a girlfriend, who I'll probably meet later. It seems to me like Ben is just your regular, nice college kid. Not a threat, or anything like that.

Looking back on that makes me realize how paranoid I sound. I kind of regret that. I mean, Dad was always really strict on that Dean and I needed to be aware of our surroundings, and know every detail and all that. Analyzing people just goes along with that, I guess.

But still, I'm trying to leave that life behind me as best I can. I can't force everything out of me, of course, because at this point I can't really tell the difference between my instincts and what Dad taught me. At the very least, I don't need to go around lugging an artillery around with me, or go about sprinkling a salt circle around the room every night. Actually, I really wanted to do the second one since I'm pretty sure that there have been students who have died on campus at some point, and it's always possible that their spirits haven't moved on, but I didn't. You can hide your weapons (or weapon, in my case: a silver knife I got awhile ago), and you can be fairly subtle about taking stock of your surroundings, but you can't hide it when you're sprinkling condiments in a circle around your room.

And let's face it, the knife is awkward enough. If I'm found on campus with it, I'm screwed. Goodbye scholarship, goodbye Stanford; no, I don't know how that dagger came to be under my mattress. Yeah, there's really no way out of it.

I think I managed to hide it well enough, though –I _hope_ I did. It's not like people regularly look under my mattress (which, subsequently, is where I'm hiding this journal.). I didn't put my initials on the hilt, or whatnot, and I had also gotten into the habit of wiping it down after practicing with it, so hopefully my fingerprints aren't all over it. I guess I could just say that I've never seen it before.

Of course, there's about a one-in-a-million chance that campus security, or the police, or whoever I'd be dealing with would buy that. I know I'm good at lying, but I don't think that even Dean could get through away with that excuse, and he's probably the best liar that I know.

Hopefully, it won't come to that, though. My classes start tomorrow, and I'm not going to spend all of my time worrying until they do. I'll write about them when I have the chance.

-Sam Winchester


	3. Entry Three

_Journal Entry: Three  
February 5  
_  
My Latin course is a total joke. I guess that's what I guess for signing up for a beginner's course, but still. There's more to the language to read than scientific names and old emblems and mottos; things that sound cool in Latin, but terrible in English. Not that I expected us to be reading exorcisms, or anything like that. I just wish for a bit of an interesting challenge, since it's one of my favorite subjects.

Then again, I guess I don't have too much to complain about. I mean, I'm at Stanford. That any of my classes here should be simple is kind of a miracle, and it's probably not a good idea to look a gift horse in the mouth, and all of that.

Speaking of the rest of my courses, they aren't as bad as they could be. They take up most of my time, but I don't really have anything to do besides study, right? Writing here, maybe, but other than that there isn't much.

Since it's my first term here, there isn't really any order to the courses that I'm taking. I'm just getting the ones that don't have anything to do with major, but which I'll need to get a basic degree in anything, out of the way. There's the Latin one, which counts as a foreign language, and an algebra class (I need some sort of math credit). That one, I don't particularly like, but it isn't too difficult.

Still, my classes have managed to keep me busy, which I guess is why I've hardly written at all in here. I wonder how often dad wrote in his journal? Funny; I never really saw him recording anything in his notebook, but it was always there. I guess he must have made the time in between hunting.

Is it bad that I still can't think of dad without being pissed at him? I mean, it's been a month and I know that I really should call him or Dean and tell them that yeah, I'm still alive, but neither of them has tried calling me. I know I said some harsh things to dad, but still. We've argued before. And Dean is probably mad at me too, since I just up and left (and I can't say that our parting words were the best, anyway, but I was angry, and he knew that. Right?)

Then again, I never left home to go to college before. That's probably a big factor in it.

I know I should probably be saying more about that -face my inner demons and all- but I'm not really in the mood to right now. I also have an assignment for my writing class which is due tomorrow, and I probably should be working on that. I'll write more later, when time allows.

-Sam Winchester

(oh, and thankfully, I haven't had too many questions about my past yet. Ben and a few of the people that he's introduced me to have asked the standard "Where are you from?" and "Any siblings?" so far, but that's it. I've just said I'm from Kansas, and that I have an older brother who travels a lot. Neither which, of course, are lies.)


	4. Entry Four

_Journal Entry: Four  
February 26_

You know what's awkward? Going on a blind date. What's worse is a blind double-date. On Valentine's Day. And then having the other two people bail on you halfway through to go do God-knows-what together.

Yeah, I probably should start at the beginning.

I've been busy lately. Really, really busy. As it turns out, Stanford is no day at the beach once you get into the second month of the term. My classes have been taking up almost all of my time, and I still have a huge project due for my English/writing class that counts for something like 30% of my grade –but I really need to write, and somehow I don't think that comparing and contrasting the religious literature in the eighteenth and the nineteenth centuries is going to cut it.

Anyway, Ben (who claims to be maintaining a steady 3.8 GPA, even though I've never seen him study or do homework) happened to notice how busy I was, and decided that it would be a good idea to invite me to a party to meet his girlfriend, and to "Pick up chicks." (His words, not mine.) I tried turning him down, bur he wouldn't leave me alone, and seeing as we have to sleep in the same room and all, it was starting to get really annoying. I did my best to politely ignore him for as long as I could (all of those long road trips when I was trapped in the same car with Dean and Dad taught me patience better than any training exercise ever could) but I eventually caved in and went last Saturday.

His girlfriend is really nice, and really pretty, if I do say so myself, but I'm not Dean: I know she's taken, and I will respect that. And apparently, she knows people, and has a lot of friends. Single friends. I met a few of them at the party, and they seemed nice enough, even if it didn't go anywhere. She did tell me, though, that the best of them, Lia, couldn't make it that night.

That was about ten minutes before I managed to escape from the party. Ben had driven, but it wasn't far from the campus, and I had wanted to fit a good run into my schedule anyway (can't afford a gym membership, and I'm not letting myself get out of shape).

So there we were, Ben, his girlfriend, and I, with a few other dozen people surrounding us, and I was trying to be fixed up with somebody's friend.

Contrary to Dean's opinion, I'm not a prude. Definitely not. And (once again, contrary to Dean) I like to actually get to know a person before I get further involved with them. I like girls, and although a social agenda might not be as high as an academic one on my list, I'd like to have a girlfriend.

So it was either that, the loud music, the pleading look in her eyes, or maybe the drink I'd had (though it wasonly a few sips -I don't allow myself to dull my senses when I'm in a new place) that made me do what I had never done before, and agree to be set up on a date.

I think she had been planning this for some time, because she instantly rattled off a time and a place. Which happened to be Valentine's Day, but Ben was cool with that.

Anyways, it was a really simple date. A movie (I can't even remember the name) and dinner at this tiny café.

Lia was nice, I suppose. Quiet, but so was I. She goes to Stanford too, but I can't remember if she said what she was studying. She spent most of the time giggling and making eyes at Ben.

I should be annoyed that she liked him more than she did me, but it doesn't bother me too much. There weren't really any sparks. Ben snuck off with his girlfriend after the movie, and we had a quiet dinner together. An awkward on, but a nice one. We were able to walk back to campus together, said good night, and that was it. Needless to say, there won't be any second date.

I still haven't heard from Dad, which is no surprise, but Dean also hasn't called.

I did tell him not to, though. I guess that's what I get. I'm starting to sort of regret saying that. Not to Dad, but to Dean.

Time to go study.

-Sam Winchester

(oh, and I just realized that, over this entry, I never actually mentioned the name of Ben's girlfriend. I must have a thing for epithets. For what it's worth, it's Jess.)


	5. Entry Five

_Journal Entry: Five  
March 13_

* * *

Dean called.

I was Latin when he did. It's still easy. I was taking a test (not a major, 40 percent-of-your-grade one, but still not something I'd risk failing by whipping out my cell phone in the middle of class) and I didn't bother checking my messages until after all of my courses for the day were done.

His number was right there –he called at 12:41. It's probably later where he is (funny thing; I traveled so much that it's strange not to have constant jetlag). I'm just about to play the message now. Ben is out, so, thankfully, I have the room to myself.

Actually, I'm kind of surprised that he called at all. I mean, I really wanted him to and I know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth (assuming that this is a positive call and not bad news or him misdialing, or something like that) but still, it's strange that he would. Not as strange as it would be if Dad called me, but still unusual.

Dean knew I was leaving. He was there when I received word from Stanford, and he congratulated me, even though he knew it meant that I would be more-or-less abandoning him and Dad. Dad, though, didn't know I was leaving until I actually told him, argued with him, and walked out.

Dean wished me the best. Dad told me not to contact him again until I had come to my senses. I told him I was fine with that.

Dean gave me extra cash, a ride to the bus stop, and a promise that Dad would cool down. I'm almost certain that the last part was a lie –I haven't been with my brother for my whole life and learned nothing about him. And that's not even mentioning Dad, who isn't exactly the type to cool down quickly and brush things aside.

When I left, Dean told me he wouldn't call regularly, and he promised he wouldn't come to see me. I let him say that, because I thought that I was okay with it then. I'm trying to start a new life –I'd say I already have. If I want to really leave behind hunting, then I need to give up all parts of it, and that included the good things. Like my family.

I have missed Dean, though. Something would be wrong if that were otherwise. He's practically all I've got (or all I had).

I guess I should see why he called now, though. Best to stop being all insecure and girly, as Dean would put it.

Until next time,

Sam Winchester


	6. Entry Six

_Journal Entry: Six_

_Same day:_

_

* * *

  
_

I don't really know what to write. It seems like it would be a lot simpler just not to write, actually. What am I supposed to do, spill all of my deepest feelings out to this paper and search through my soul to find some deep revelation about what I think about Dean's call?

Granted, I like writing. Hunting actually worked as a decent sort of stress relief for me, which is surprising, since I would say that it was probably the cause of most of my stress in the first place. But what am I really looking to accomplish by writing all of this down? I can't say I've been doing it frequently enough for it to keep me sane.

Whatever the reason is, I know that if I'm not honest here, than there's no point in keeping this. It's a "truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth" thing, I guess, and the most important part of that is probably "the whole truth." So, in order to maintain that, here's a transcript of Dean's call:

Dean: Hey, Sam... [he hesitates here]. It's been awhile, hasn't it? What, three months? Maybe four. You're the geek; you know your numbers better than I do [he laughs, sounding nervous]. Anyway, I was just calling to say hi, I guess. Wanted to see how you were doing; if you've settled down at school okay. I know you're probably all popular at Stanford now; getting all the girls, but I can't let you lose sight of your humble origins, can I? Anyways, I'm just peachy, and so's Dad. Hope you're not dead yet, and you're just avoiding me, or with a chick, or something, which is why you're not answering. And just out of curiosity, any chance of you coming home soon? Just wondering. I think Dad's cooled down a bit. Whatever. 'Bye.

And then he hangs up.

How do I answer this? Do I call Dean back? I mean, I know I should. For common etiquette, yes, but also because he's Dean, and I feel bad about keeping him hanging like that.

Which is probably kind of ironic. I mean, I would feel bad about not responding to him, but I'm fine with running off and leaving him with the life he's been stuck with since he was four? Not that I'm completely okay with it, but I was to the point where I would do it.

But am I going to respond?

I guess the logical thing to do is to figure out what good calling would do, and what harm. I don't know it that will actually help, but it's worth a try, right?

**Pros/Why I should call:**

-Dean deserves a response. I'll feel guilty if I just leave him hanging.  
-If Dean doesn't get a response, he might think something is wrong, and then come up to Stanford to check, and I know that wouldn't go over very well.  
-I feel guilty about having just left him (even if it was the right decision).

**Cons/Why it's a bad idea:**

-I'm not going to lie to Dean, and being honest means telling him that I'm not coming home anytime soon.  
-I told Dad that I wasn't going to be in contact, and if I call Dean, Dad is almost definitely going to find out (I feel really petty writing this, but I hate giving Dad the pleasure of seeing me go back on my word).  
-Additionally, I'm not letting Dad think that I regret doing anything  
-I want to distance myself from the past, and giving the ones I lived with a friendly phone call isn't going to help me accomplish that.

When I look at it like that, the answer is obvious, but what if it isn't the one I want?

Until next time,

-Sam Winchester


	7. Entry Seven

_April 13_

I called Dean back.

It didn't take me this long to get to it, thankfully. I did it the same day that he called me. It just took me this long to write because… well, things have been busy. They still are, actually, but obviously, I did find some time to write.

But as my professor has said many times, 'events should be related in the order in which they occurred,' so I'll explain why I've been so busy later on. For now, the phone call: I don't have a transcript of what I said, mostly because I'm not sure what it was, exactly. He wasn't awake, or he was out when I called, but I knew that if I didn't leave a message then, I probably wouldn't bother calling later.

I told him that I was okay, and that my courses were all going well –I doubt he cares all that much about my academics, but there isn't much as far as small talk goes that I could think of. I said that I hoped he and Dad were doing fine.

After that, I said that I had been busy, and that he didn't need to call back, if nothing was wrong –that it was great to hear from him, but I probably wouldn't have been able to get back to him for awhile.

That wasn't a lie. Midterms have kept me busy, but thankfully, they're all over now, and I actually did reasonably well on all of them -89% was my lowest score, in algebra. I scored 100% on the Latin one, thankfully. Even Dad always paid attention to how I did on that, when Dean and I were attending a school that offered it as a course. He always expected the best on that, of course. We probably could have failed everything else, but the one time I remember bringing home a 90%, he wasn't happy. At all.

As a plus, I've never screwed up the spellings since then.

Besides that, there are the non-academic complications. I got a weekend job. As a restaurant promoter.

I would have preferred so much that they just told me to dress like, say, a giant chicken. I would have a mask, at least. But something that people can tell it's me under, and which I hate? With a passion? I'd rather not spend my weekends in costume as that, even if I do want to have some spending money (since, after all, it isn't really possible for me to just call up my parents and beg for money, as everyone around me seems to be doing).

But no, Uncle Joe's Klown Korner was the only place that I found that I could get decent wages for, and which I could work my schedule with. This job makes hunting seem like a breeze –but at least now, I get paid.

Dean had better not come to the Palo Alto area on Friday nights, Saturdays, or Sundays. It's going to be bad enough if Ben, or Dom, or Luke find out. They know that I work at a restaurant, but that's all the details that they have. I'd like to keep it that way.

Ben and I have been getting along, thankfully. Some people I've met hate their roommates. I couldn't imagine that, having to live in such close quarters, and not being able to get along. It sounds worse than the times I was arguing with Dad (or Dean, although that wasn't nearly as often) and we were stuck in traffic or on a long ride in the Impala. The tension between us was… well, it wasn't fun, to say the least.

I actually went to a party last weekend. It was as fun as a party can be, I suppose. I met some new people, and socialized a bit. I actually made a date with someone –we went out last night. Nellie. She knew Jess, we got introduced, and well, that's about the oldest story in college history, isn't it?

It actually went really well. She's nice –doesn't go to Stanford, but she's studying to become an actress at a different school. She likes Alaskan Malamutes, has four siblings, wrote for her high-school newspaper, was runner up prom-queen, and is a democrat.

And she likes to talk, a lot. That works out well, though, since I don't have much to say about my past, or myself. We made plans for a second date.

I probably should be studying –there's a Latin quiz in a few days.

Until next time,

Sam Winchester


	8. Entry Eight

_April 28_

_Entry Eight_

Well, Nellie and I broke up.

Turns out, the nice thing about being dressed up as a clown is that you become anonymous. Apparently, even people who usually have the fortune to be towering over crowds can be disguised with some red and white face paint, a rubber nose, and giant shoes. I would think that being dressed as a clown was about as inconspicuous as a wendigo on a city street, but maybe not.

Then again, it is perfectly possible that she just didn't see me. After all, her eyes were probably busy appreciating the man she was with. The man who, optimist that I was, I assumed was her brother.

I stopped thinking that once they had started to lock lips while waiting for the traffic signal to change. If he was her brother, I don't want to know it.

Anyway, I confronted her openly once I was out of the clown suit and back at Stanford (it would have been extremely unprofessional to have diverted my cheerful promotion for the Klown Korner just to confront my then-girlfriend and the guy whose arm she was hanging off of. Not to mention that he had an impressively muscular build, and although I probably could have taken him down if I needed to, I wasn't about to test my luck by finding out. Fortune wasn't exactly playing my way at the moment as it was, and I didn't want to make it worse.). I told her that I had seen her with another guy, and she didn't try to deny it. She apologized, although I think that it was more for that I had found out, and less for actually doing the crime.

Maybe I'm just bitter. I shouldn't be, since we parted on good terms -all things considered- but she was my girlfriend. Even Dean had the morals to keep away from a girl that I was dating, on the few times that we stayed long enough in a single place for me to have a relationship. He wasn't above flirting with them, of course, but I never expected him to be above flirting with anyone. You can't ask a tiger to change its stripes.

Other than that, not much is going on. Finals are coming up, but I'm in good shape for them. I've started thinking about how I'll be spending my summer now. I won't be taking as many classes, so I'm seeing what sort of a job I can get. Hopefully, I'll be able to find one that doesn't involve standing on a street corner and holding a giant sign, dressed up as one of my top five fears (it's probably number two -Dad when he's pissed gets number one. Although, I know that I can stand up to Dad. Whether I can if I were to meet a clown face-to-face is another issue entirely.)

Off to study. I suppose as daily rituals go, it's better than sparring or target practice. I think I'm the only one here who appreciates having to sit down for two hours (on an easy night) and pouring over my books and notes, which I only use when I can decipher them. My hand is steadier when I'm holding a gun than when I'm holding a pencil. That's Dad's grand legacy, I suppose.

Until next time,  
Sam Winchester


	9. Entry Nine

Entry 9

* * *

Given the choice between hunting and finals, I would be tempted to walk away from both.

Of course, that's why you don't always give in to your temptations, contrary to what all of Dean's philosophies seem to say. I would choose the latter option, of course. I might have never taken a college final exam before, but I can at least predict what's coming up. Hunting is like a hydra (been there, done that): cut of one of its heads, and it grows two more, in new and different forms (you have to burn it to get rid of it, as it turns out).

Not that my second-rate similes are important. The point is, I would still have a choice there. Neither option could be considered what you would call fun, but there is a choice.

Given the choice between studying in the library and listening in on a conversation between the two people sitting at the table behind me, I choose studying. Unless my name comes up, it isn't my place to listen.

It wasn't intentional. I had been quizzing myself on Latin for the past half-hour, and anyone who says that it's possible for you to do that without your mind wandering even just for a few seconds clearly has never done it.

A few seconds was all that it took to realize that they were talking about certain, unusual weather patterns just south of Palo Alto; lightning storms, for the most part. They were talking about it from the point of students who were taking classes on meteorology, of course. Not how I heard it.

So, like any sensible hunter would do, I got up, collected my notes, and went to research what sort of a storm was brewing next to Palo Alto.

An extra bit of lightning, I can pass as natural atmospheric activity. I'll be suspicious, of course, but sometimes these things happen. We –Dad, Dean and I—had followed plenty of false leads before, but being a hunter gives you a different perspective on "better safe than sorry" than most people have.

Once you add cattle mutilations into the equation, I can't say it's something normal.

Given the choice between risking demonic activity destroying more lives or either swallowing my pride and contacting Dean or Dad, or (and yes, I know my limitations- I'm just throwing out my options) going after it myself...

Well, that isn't really a choice, is it?

(I want to go after it myself; I really do. There's a chance that this could be what killed Mom, and even if it isn't, it's still evil, and eradicating it was my job. I feel almost -no, I do- feel guilty retiring, even if it's the only possible thing that I want that I can actually get. It's hunting or college, and while that's a choice, it's not exactly a hard one: my answer will always be the same.)

Until next time,

Sam Winchester


	10. Entry Ten

Entry 10

* * *

Having to deal with demons and college is bad enough. Having to deal with demons and college during finals' week is just adding insult to injury.

I thought it over, what to do about the omens near Palo Alto. I considered every possible way to deal with this, and a few that probably weren't.

In the end, though, all that it came down to was prioritizing: either I shoved aside my pride for the sake of school and made the call, or I went after it myself.

Ultimately, school was more important. I didn't give up everything that I had (not that it was much, but family does still count for something, even if I only happen to initiate a

conversation with them when Hell's bells start ringing –and if me referencing ACDC isn't proof that my family still has some bearing over me, then I don't know what is) just to fail out of

Stanford because I was running after what something that could have been completely unrelated to the demon that killed Mom. It was the safer bet as well, and although that wasn't my first reason for choosing to pick up the phone and contact Dad and Dean, it did help me to make up my mind. I wasn't going to risk taking a final with a broken arm, or worse.

It was Dean that I actually called, of course. School might trump my attempted vow of silence (although I suppose that I've technically broken that already, even though it was Dean who called first) but I made a promise not to call Dad, and I don't break my promises. Not to mention that it just wouldn't go very well –he hasn't forgotten everything that I said, I would bet, and I definitely remember every one of his words.

Dean was there when I called, and I'm not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing –I was hoping that I wouldn't have to talk to him, in a way, because I knew that it was going to be

awkward. It was, but I suppose that it could have been worse.

I remember exactly what I said, even though it was upwards of a week ago. I've wanted to write this, but finals and extracurricular activities don't exactly go hand-in-hand; I've even have to cut down my hours working at the Klown Korner, much to my dismay.

So, without further ado, here's a transcript as I remember it:

(Dean picked up the phone after the second ring)

Dean: Hello?

Me: Dean? It's-

Dean: Sammy? What's going on? Are you okay?

Me: Yeah, of course. Listen, Dean, I can't talk much now (just as a note, this wasn't a complete lie; I called when Ben was out of the dorm, and I didn't know when he would be back, and I really didn't want to have to deal with any questions about why I was calling my brother) but I needed to tell you something-

Dean: Sure, of course. What is it?

Me: There have been omens, in the Palo Alto area. Lighting storms and cattle mutilations. From what I could find, it started about a week ago.

Dean: Oh, dammit...

I heard him saying something to somebody else, and fumbling around.

Dean: Listen, Sammy, Dad and I are in Oregon -Salem, going after a poltergeist- but we can probably find someone else to finish it up. We're packing up now. Where do you want to meet?

Me: Meet? Dean, I can't meet you. I've got finals this week... I just hoped that if you were in the area, you would be able to look into it.

There was another pause; I'm almost certain he was talking to Dad during it. No, scratch that -I know that he was, because I could hear Dad swearing in the background. I think that he was asking to talk to me, and Dean was trying to dissuade him from it, which was probably a good idea. I know that he doesn't like to disobey Dad -most of the fights that we've had over the years have involved that- but it payed off this time, because he came back to the phone a moment later.

Dean: Right, of course. I didn't realize. We'll still be coming up there, though, so if you're nearby...

Me: Yeah. Okay.

There was another pause here, and I have to admit, I was really hoping that Ben or someone would walk in, just so that I would have a legitimate excuse to get off of the phone. I'll take a heart-to-heart conversation with Dean any day over an awkward silence.

Although I don't think he would agree with me to that extent, Dean isn't a fan of them either. He's just better at getting out of them.

Dean: I have to go. The Impala's got to be fueled up; we've got a decent drive ahead of us.

Me: Yeah, you do. 'Bye, Dean.

Dean: 'Bye, Sammy. And hey, nerd-out all the finals.

Me: I'll do my best. Thanks.

I hung up after that.

Five days passed without me hearing from him, and when he finally called, I was in class, so I only took his message.

Again, a transcript:

Dean: Hey, Sammy. It's me. Dad and I are packing up. It was here, we're pretty sure, but it isn't now. One step ahead of us, like always, I guess. That's it. 'Bye.

He didn't sound too happy, not that I blame him -it always is ahead of us, or so we think. It was hard to know for certain, given that it was always gone by the time we got there.

I didn't call him back -there was no need to- and I haven't heard from him since. I've been spending all of my time studying since then. I should be getting my grades soon.

Until next time,

Sam Winchester


	11. Entry Eleven

_Entry 11_

It's summer, and I'm in California. I'm off-campus for now (renting a small apartment with several people that I met in college, all of whom I've seen eat with real silver silverware, and use liberal amounts of salt when they're doing that) and the classes that I'm taking this term (one is an overview on the major religions of the world, and the other one is about using the internet) aren't hard.

Honestly, I feel good. It kind of kills my manhood to be writing this, but I'm genuinely happy. I made it through an entire term at Stanford, and my grades were much better than I expected them to be, with an "A" in Latin, "B+" in algebra, and an "A" in the creative writing course. The courses weren't as challenging as I expect some of my ones in the future will be, but even if it's only a false sense of security, I get some relief in knowing that I managed to survive as a college kid at all.

My job is going well -I'm now only doing the Klown Korner publicity act on weekends. I work at a waiter there at night, and on some weekdays I have a job working to paint houses -interiors and exteriors, although usually the former. The company hires a lot of college kids, and although the pay isn't that high, all things considered, it helps me to pay my portion of the rent, and it gives me enough to have something extra in my pocket.

It also isn't very difficult work. You just have to be neat when slapping the paint onto the walls. A lot of it is actually just waiting for it to dry in between coats, and that gives me time to study. I almost wish that my classes were more difficult this term.

The guys I'm living with are in similar situations. None of them are working for the painting contractor, but we all have day jobs. Ben works in a movie theater, Dave is working as a personal assistant (or secretary, from what I can tell) for a big-shot that runs an insurance corporation and Brady volunteers at a free clinic. The last one isn't actually a job, but apparently, Brady's parents are rich and he's set for life, and he considers it his personal duty to help out instead of take a job that a more deserving person could use. I'm not protesting -I know a few other people in his situation, and their summers revolve around girls and drinking, so I suppose he's a saint. Or something like that, anyways.

California itself has been, putting it frankly, pretty damn awesome. It's my first time living in this part of the state, and I can't find anything to complain about. The weather is fine by my standards, the people are -well, they're normal people; a decent mixture of the bad and the good- and the supernatural activity has been non-existent since the omens.

On that note, I haven't heard anything from Dean or Dad recently. Shouldn't make me happy, but no news is good news. The silence helps me to distance myself from the past and the present, and that's something that I need to do. I can't say it's easy, but living in a dorm helped me get used to not being able to draw salt lines or devil's traps. I'm still paranoid (living with three people increases the chances that one of them will be possessed and I might not notice as quickly as I would when sharing a room the length of the Impala with only one of them) but it's getting better.

Regardless, I still wonder what they're doing. It makes me feel almost guilty to be happy when I know that they're stuck on the road, risking their lives on a pointless crusade that could end with both of them dead, and me not finding out until months later.

But it's never enough to make me stop taking advantage of a brief streak of fortune. Does that make me a bad person? I left, and I'm not going back. Why should I live in an eternal state of guilt?

Until next time,

Sam Winchester


	12. Entry Twelve

_Entry: 12_

* * *

I skipped class today.

We hadn't been doing much -apparently, World Religions isn't a very popular class at Stanford, and it mainly consists of the dozen of us sitting in a classroom listening to the professor go into a rant about how under-appreciated his subject is. Whatever education I get from it is received almost entirely on my own, when I'm reading the textbook in-between painting rooms.

That means that I didn't actually miss anything, or at least nothing that I can't make up. Still, there's part of me that feels guilty for skipping. I'm at Stanford by the grace of a full scholarship, and I'm taking that for granted and not even going to all of my classes?

Regardless, the beach was beautiful, and my guilt wasn't nearly enough to stop me from appreciating that. The weather was perfect, warm with only a touch of humidity, and there were no clouds.

I went there with Ben, Jessica, Brady, Dave, and Dave's girlfriend, Irma. Ben and Jessica ditched us as soon as the car was parked, and I didn't see them again until sunset. The rest of us stayed together for most of the day. We hung out at the shore and people-watched for most of the day, and occasionally went into the water. I've been on both coasts, and the West wins where beaches are concerned.

Of course, I've never had to hunt a siren on the West Coast's beaches, so that probably has something to do with it. It's hard to look at Maine's rocky shores without thinking of the things that come out at night to perch on some of the larger stones.

Anyway, most of the day was spent on the beach, although we eventually retreated to the boardwalk. I have an impressive sunburn on my back to show for it, but at least I'm not alone: Since he doesn't have a girlfriend either and neither of us were willing to surrender our pride enough to ask someone to massage sunscreen into our backs, and since neither of us have very long arms, apparently, we both have large red patches in our backs.

Ben has it the worst, though: I don't know where he and Jess ran off to, but since he resembles, to put it in the frankest terms possible, a lobster, I'm guessing that it was sunny, and I'm guessing that the idea of sunscreen didn't even cross his mind. Jess doesn't look much better, but since she wasn't walking around bearing her (sunburned) chest to the world, I can't really judge which one of them will be cringing more in the days to come.

In the end, I don't regret skipping class; not at all, and that makes me feel even more guilty, which in turn makes me think that I'm doing something wrong. It's college, and according to a.) the media, and b.) Dean (we did talk about what it would be like before I left, although it was all in hypothetical terms then, of course) it's supposed to be giving me a greater education in social areas than in academic ones. I'm doing everything correctly, when I think of it from Dean's perspective.

Is it a bad thing that almost all of my guilt is absolved just by thinking that? I'm guessing that it is.

Too bad.

Until next time,

Sam Winchester


	13. Entry Thirteen

_a/n: _This chapter references events that were mentioned in flashbacks in 5.16. If that counts as a spoiler, then you might want to skip this chapter.

Thanks to everyone who's been reading this!

* * *

Entry: 13

* * *

Today is the July fourth, which means, of course, Independence Day, which in turn means no classes, fireworks, barbecues and family.

At least, that seems to be the general definition that it's getting from the rest of my classmates. Most people who are still in the area over the summer, including all of my roommates, have finally ditched this part of California for wherever they're native to. I have an apartment to myself, nowhere to be, and nothing to do.

And actually, I like it. The past months have been a whirlwind of change, and I've had almost no time to myself. Given that I've spent the majority of my time with almost no friends around me ( at least, none that weren't related) there's a certain element of culture shock that I need to contend with.

I had friends growing up, to some extent: when I was younger (feels odd saying that, seeing as I'm not even able to legally drink, despite what numerous identities that I've possessed have said, but I mean preadolescence young) it was easier for me to adapt to a new situation, and it also helped that at that age, most kids think that it's cool to be moving all over the country, so most of my fellow students were quick to accept me. I was always able to entertain my classmates with stories about where I had lived before.

I think that it was around the time that I learned the real reason that we were traveling all over the country that it suddenly became harder for me to connect to people. When you realize how bad things around you are, you start to have trouble relating to people who will, hopefully, never understand that there are things in the dark that make you wish that you were dreaming.

I also started to loath moving around to where the hunt took us around the time that my voice began to change. That's when it all went downhill.

But even so, I still have good memories from the time onwards, and I think that the point I'm trying to make with all of this rambling is that the Fourth of July is one of them.

Especially the one when I was thirteen and Dean was seventeen. Dad was gone that year, and for some reason, we'd been left behind. He probably figured that the hunt was too much for us. Dad didn't give many vacations just for the sake of rest and relaxation.

We were in Massachusetts, and there wasn't much to do, and Dean drove to New Hampshire and smuggled some fireworks back to Massachusetts. In all technicalities, he was breaking the law on two accounts: backyard fireworks weren't allowed in Massachusetts, and he was still technically a minor. I don't think that buying fireworks was exactly what Dad had in mind when he gave Dean that fake ID, but he never found out.

The two of us drove out to a big field in the middle of nowhere, with the trunk of the Impala stuffed with fireworks, and we did what any pair of teenagers would have done if they were given the opportunity: we set them off.

We must have lasted ten minutes before the field caught fire, and then we made a run for it, but not before setting all of the rockets that we had left off in a big bang of glory. There was a small article about it in the local newspaper the next day. We had only missed the police by five minutes, from the sound of it.

Simply put, it was awesome. It's the only time I can ever remember actually breaking the law for something other than a hunt, and it shouldn't make me feel so nostalgic, especially considering that I'm considering going into law as a major, but for whatever reason, it does. It's one of my favorite memories, and one of the best that I have of being with Dean. It's in the top five for sure.

I wonder if he remembers it.

Until next time,

Sam Winchester


	14. Entry Fourteen

_Entry: 14_

* * *

Dear Journal,

July is a slow month. I've never really understood why, but that always seems to be the case, regardless of where I am.

Dad was never the sort of guy to take two weeks off the job and hang out at the beach, but July was still usually the quietest month we had. Dad was obsessed and he was drill-sergeant strict, but he was never outright cruel. July and August were always hot wherever we were, and it was often so intense that Dad didn't make Dean and I train outside. That's not to say that he let us sit around watching television all day, but I would much rather have been spending my time inside and looking up information on whatever hunt Dad was on than running a few miles with only sunscreen and the clothes on my back to keep the sun at bay.

I doubt Dean agreed with me, of course. He definitely took after Dad in that aspect: both of them would rather be slinging guns or sharpening knives than spending a few hours in a library or looking through public records (or breaking into sealed ones, for that matter.) The difference, of course, is that I never heard Dad complain about it. He did what was necessary, even if he didn't like it.

Dean was never very subtle about his dislike for research, even though he usually didn't complain in front of Dad. I wonder how they split the work now.

Regardless, my point is that I always liked July, and I still do now. My classes this month aren't too stressful, the apartment is air-conditioned, and my jobs bring me in a steady income –not a large one, but enough for my share of the rent, the necessities of college life, and a few dollars to set aside in case any unexpected expenses should arise. Everything is going fine.

The only problem is, I keep waiting for the catch. There has to be one. Nothing good ever lasts for long; that's the first rule of being a Winchester, and over seven months is a long time, by my count.

I'm starting to get nervous, but at the same time, I'm wondering if I've crossed that fine line that goes between being realistic and being paranoid. It's hard to tell.

Until next time,

Sam Winchester


	15. Entry Fifteen

_Entry: fifteen_

_

* * *

_

Dear journal,

August in California is hot. That's one of the things that you learn when you're going to Stanford.

Other lessons include that it's socially acceptable to drive around without a shirt, if your ears aren't ringing when it's off, then your radio isn't turned up loudly enough, and that a lot of kids are scared of the giant man in the clown suit holding balloons emblazoned with the Klown Korner's logo.

I love California. At least, I think that I do. I suppose that it's equally likely that I just like having somewhere stable to live. It's oddly liberating to know that I won't have to pack up my bags in the middle of the night and hightail it out of here because the authorities found the werewolf's body.

The apartment isn't an extravagant place to live, but it's much better than most of the hotel rooms or cheap apartments that I grew up in. Really, this is little more than a glorified college dorm, not to mention that the sights you see as soon as you enter makes it glaringly obvious that we're either all college students or bachelors. Or, as the case happens to be, both. There's a reason that Ben never brings Jessica here anymore, and it can probably be found under the couch, gathering dust or growing mold. Or, again, both; it would appear that few things around here can be sorted into mutually exclusive categories.

I've only been in the apartment for a few months, but I prefer life here to life on campus. Ben, Brady and I plan to keep living here once next semester starts. Dave is moving back onto the college grounds.

Of course, all of this could change in the blink of an eye -"The best laid schemes of mice and men"- but for now, I'll take it for granted that it hasn't.

Until next time,

Sam Winchester


	16. Entry Sixteen

Entry: Sixteen

* * *

Dear journal,

I've been thinking a lot about love lately.

Actually, no. I haven't been thinking about it -rather, I've been listening to Ben think aloud about it. Or, to be completely honest, moan about how it doesn't really exist and quote a bunch of articles on psychology and how your emotions are all just chemicals racing through your blood and brain to prove it.

Needless to say, he broke up with Jess. I wasn't there when it happened, and I'm thanking every deity that I can think of that I wasn't.

Ben misjudged the relationship slightly. He thought that it would be a good idea to propose to Jess, even though they had only been going out for six months, and even though they're both college students who are currently wracking up enough debt in college funds to pay their rent for a decade or three. I'd just like to state here that I was not involved with the proposal in any way, and that Ben did not consult me before buying the ring and popping the question. Additionally, had he asked me first, I would not have hesitated to tell him what a bad idea it was.

Anyway, unfortunately for him, he decided that the proposal was best done in an extremely expensive restaurant along the coast. Apparently, everyone in the dining room was watching them while got down on one knee and then got rejected.

Jess seems to have dealt with it gracefully, although Ben doesn't think so. She was kind enough to not say "Never" to him, at least. Instead, she suggested that they take it slowly, and that she wasn't sure he was the one. On the ride back, she told him that she needed to consider things, and wanted to spend some time apart.

Ben took it well in front of her. Then he came home, broke the television set, and went out to a bar.

He's paying for the t.v., at least -actually, we're getting a new one. Apparently, sticking your foot through the screen has some nastily irreparable results.

I haven't seen Jess since Ben left her, which was about a week ago. I imagine it's going to be awkward if -or when- we meet up again. I heard from Brady, who heard it from a friend of Dave's girlfriend, that she's dealing well with the breakup, or at least better than Ben. Not that that's hard to do.

Love is painful, I suppose. I just wish that Ben wasn't lamenting about it quite so loudly; it makes studying a lot harder.

Until next time,

Sam Winchester


End file.
